Reflections upon my Early Modern Culture class

In the first place, it is way too far away. If we pretend that my dorm is Maine, then my Early Modern Culture class is, like, New Zealand. It’s so far away, and now that it’s cold and windy and nasty, it’s no fun to go toddling all the way out to the Constable building (that’s what it’s called) every Friday afternoon. I will agree that the lakes I walk past to get there are very pretty, and there are coots and crows and ducks with green heads and gooses, and they are scenic and whatnot, but you know what they do?

They poop. Everywhere. All over the sidewalk upon which I must walk to get to my Early Modern Culture class. I am kind of inclined to blame the geese, because at home I live near a lake, and there are coots and ducks there (but not really any geese) and I am not constantly dodging poop when I go walking around the lake. Whereas this sidewalk is covered with goose shit. It is so covered in goose shit that the administration has acknowledged it by putting up a little thing with brushes that you can scrape your shoes off on. This contraption is, unfortunately, located at the start of the walk out to the Constable building and not the end, and it does not prevent me from having shit on my shoes all during class.

And that’s the other thing. The Constable building must be home to the Asian Studies department or something because it is always full of East Asian people, and they are always chattering away to each other, and every time I hear someone say “Hao-bu-hao?” or something that I understand (like numbers. Or “kitten”. Or “swimming pool”), I get way excited and I want to dash over to them shrieking, I KNOW WHAT YOU JUST SAID! YOU SAID SOMETHING SOMETHING SOMETHING KITTEN SOMETHING SOMETHING! I TOTALLY SPEAK CHINESE! and I never can. Because that would be weird.

I always try to harden my heart before I go to Early Modern Culture, so that I will not be swayed by how sad my professor looks when no one will answer his questions, but I just can’t do it. If he didn’t say things like, “These last few weeks we will be studying gender, um, starting with the Queen herself of course, and then the aristocratic ladies, all the way down to the–the more common women, and indeed we will be reading a play about a–well, you know, a p-prostitute” and “Here on the map you see the salters and the goldsmiths. (Pause.) Goldsmith! This relates to our play! Touchstone in our play was a goldsmith! Eh? Yeah? Remember?” then I might be capable of it; the thing is, he does say things like that. And he bounces up and down. So by the one-hour mark he has always broken me down and I am answering every second question with not-very-smart-at-all answers so that he will cease to gaze hopelessly at my class saying, “Anybody? Please?”

And now I must write le paper.